Osborn

The first wave of S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforcements arrived at the attacked base to find little left worth salvaging.

Flames roared across the plaza, littered with wreckage of Quinjets and heavy armored vehicles, scorched black by merciless fire. Electric sparks rained down every corridor of the facility.

Nick Fury stood on the dais of the devastated hall, his face grim. Agents hurried through the space, searching for any trace left by the attackers.

Deputy Director Maria Hill climbed the metal spiral staircase onto the dais. Fury turned. "Any leads?"

"Yes." Hill nodded, handing him a tablet bearing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s gray emblem. "I don't think they bothered to hide. Our surveillance cameras caught the whole thing."

Fury took the tablet. The screen unlocked, and a grainy surveillance feed began to play. In the footage, they could vaguely make out a figure in black armor descending like a divine warrior, single-handedly overwhelming all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resistance at the base.

Fury's lone eye narrowed.

"Is it just me, or does this guy—"

"Look like the one from the Tesseract Research Institute? Yes, I think so too, sir." Hill said.

Fury frowned, lost in thought for a moment.

"Set up a separate file for him. Threat level: maximum." Fury ordered.

"Yes, sir." Hill hesitated, then asked, "Should we consult Stark?"

Her reasoning made sense. As far as they knew, Tony Stark was unquestionably the world's foremost expert in personal armor technology.

"No. Not yet." Fury shook his head. "Not now."

***

Saturday evening.

Crowds of people clogged the area outside the venue, wrapped in colorful lights, with journalists from the city's major media outlets making up the majority. The mayor's PR team had done their job well—this charity gala, themed around the mayor's own magnanimity, had certainly earned the attention it deserved.

When Michael Passo stepped out of his deep-blue supercar, the flashbulbs practically converged on him. They shouted his name with fervor, as if the loudest voice would snag the best shot.

No wonder they were so enthusiastic. This young CEO, who had risen from obscurity in just two years, was a dazzling new star. His forward-thinking concepts across multiple tech fields had propelled Passo Technology from a startup to its current scale in that short time—truly a miracle.

A few years ago, the nation's largest arms supplier, Stark Industries, announced its withdrawal from weapons manufacturing (the same year Stark Group owner Tony Stark revealed himself as Iron Man). That event sent shockwaves across the country and fundamentally reshaped the balance of interests.

Stark Industries' arms trade had long formed a complex web of interests. Stark's exit meant the established order would be reshuffled. Countless manufacturers dependent on them had to find new paths, and the military's annual bulk orders to Stark would need new bidding.

A silent war erupted quickly, and for a while, the defense sector was thick with tension.

The frontrunners were Hammer Tech and Osborn Industries. Almost everyone expected one of them to claim the throne Stark vacated, becoming the new arms giant. The struggle dragged into a protracted battle, with both sides locked in a stalemate for two or three years. No third party even considered intervening—it seemed hopeless.

But no one expected that a fledgling, unknown company with no pedigree—Passo Technology—would charge into the fray at the most critical moment.

This tiny new competitor initially didn't even register with the two giants. They saw no reason to take such an insignificant rival seriously. To them, Passo Technology was like an ant at a giant's feet—easily crushed.

Yet this little ant's subsequent achievements stunned everyone. First, they snagged a massive Department of Defense contract from Hammer Tech with an electromagnetic rifle that had only existed in concept. Then, they rolled out a portable special-jetpack that perfectly countered Osborn Technologies' Glider Board, stealing that business too.

Before the two giants could recover, Passo Technology unveiled a Laser Rifle—an energy weapon experts deemed "in its infancy." Though not yet mature, it signaled a shockwave through the entire weapons industry, perhaps even a milestone toward a global leap in arms technology.

Until then, the whole world knew—the only one who had publicly mastered energy weapons was Iron Man.

The Department of Defense had already placed large orders for these Laser Rifles with Passo Technology, clearly signaling long-term cooperation. Though the landscape wasn't settled yet, the upstart Passo Technology had clearly gained the upper hand in this battle for lasting interests.

By the time everyone finally took this new player seriously, it was too late. This emerging company effortlessly deflected pressure from all sides—both overt and covert.

Unfortunately, this brilliant young man was somewhat low-key, not the type to seek the spotlight. Beyond his astonishing public achievements, the public knew little about him, so the journalists' enthusiasm was understandable.

Inside the venue, the crowd flowed like a river. Passing through the entrance, Michael had barely taken two or three steps before he had to stop and chat with celebrities he barely knew. Their topics ranged from business deals to the latest musicals to the cover girl of this month's fashion magazine. Michael wore a warm, humble smile, as if genuinely interested in everything.

"Well, look who's here."

Michael turned at the voice to see a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, hair slick and glossy, striding toward him through the crowd. He wore a smile, but even a blind man could see the sharp edge beneath it.

That was Norman Osborn, owner of the Osborn Group. In other words, one of Michael's biggest competitors. The moment their eyes met, invisible sparks seemed to crackle in the air, thick with tension.

Norman Osborn—the supervillain from the Spider-Man series. In the original story, a super-soldier serum split his personality, and he donned a Halloween clown costume, riding a glider and causing explosions as the "Green Goblin."

The MCU films hadn't featured the Green Goblin yet. But even if Osborn did go dark, it didn't matter. Michael judged the Green Goblin as nothing more than "a Halloween clown with outdated tech on a glider"—hardly a threat.

Michael remained composed and greeted him politely. "Mr. Osborn."

Norman Osborn took two Martinis from a server and handed one to Michael. He clinked his glass lightly against Michael's.

"Allow me to toast New York's youngest genius." He downed half the Martini and exhaled. "Rare to see the great Michael Passo with time for social events like this. I thought geniuses' time was as precious as gold. Shouldn't you be in the lab, tinkering with Thrusters or something?"

Osborn was clearly still bitter about Passo Technology's jetpack order. The Department of Defense had originally committed to Osborn Technologies' Glider Board, even investing in mass production. But Passo Technology had swooped in at the last moment with a superior Thruster—better performance, cost, and convenience—stealing the deal.

Calling them enemies wouldn't be an overstatement.

Michael smiled dismissively. "No, Mr. Osborn. Thanks for your concern, but the Thruster's functions are largely complete—no improvements needed for now. However, we are currently developing laser-guided Micro-missiles, experimenting with various warheads. The project is in testing, and I'm sure the military will be interested."

Norman Osborn's face darkened again—that was exactly one of Osborn Corporation's ongoing projects. They were testing laser-guided Micro-missiles mounted on gliders, hoping to rekindle the military's interest.

Applause rippled through the hall like a wave. People stopped chatting and parted to clear a path. The mayor stepped onto the stage amid the guests' welcome. He waved, thanked everyone, and launched into a clichéd, inspiring speech.

Osborn fell silent. But all night, he kept casting sinister glances at the young man in the hall, as if trying to strike a fatal blow with his piercing gaze.

He noticed one thing, though.

Throughout the entire evening, the other man never once looked him in the eye again.